by Mike Ryan
“When do you expect to deal with him?”
“He’s gonna call me later if he has a deal set up. Hopefully for tomorrow.”
While Jones continued pouring over the information that was on the laptop, Recker looked over at one of the other computers, which had a picture of Hendricks on it. He reread some of her information, before going back to her picture. He stared at it for a few minutes, her face reminding him of someone he once knew. As he looked at it, his memory went back to London, six months ago, replaying the events in his mind.
“Centurion Six, are you in position?” the voice asked.
“I’m just outside the office building now. Going in,” Smith replied.
“We got word his assistants left an hour ago so he should be alone.”
“Roger that.”
“Check back in when the job’s finished.”
Smith entered the building through a side entrance, which was left unlocked by a security guard, just as was planned. The guard unlocked it just five minutes prior to that, right before he took a coffee break. Smith glided through the hallway until he reached the stairs in the middle of the building. Roger Coleman was supposed to be the intended target, one of the more influential members of the London Assembly. Just like every other mission, Smith had no clue why his victim’s number was up. Didn’t know what Coleman did, or why he was chosen to be eliminated. All Smith knew was the job at hand. He went up to the fifth floor where Coleman’s office was located and went down the hall to the fourth door on the left. Smith couldn’t see through the frosted glass door but did notice that a small light was on in the office. He did a quick look around and then double checked his gun, a Sig Sauer 1911-.22 caliber pistol. He took a deep breath and then turned the handle, opening the door, and then burst through the entrance. He quickly found the desk, and was ready to fire, but found no one sitting there. Smith looked around the room, not seeing a sign of life anywhere. He walked around the other side of the desk and looked underneath. It wouldn’t have been the first time he found his victim hiding under one. He didn’t hear a single sound, unusual from someone who was either hiding, or trying to get away. Usually he’d hear heavy breathing, footsteps, or something breaking accidentally from trying to run. It was eerily quiet. The lamp on the desk was on but Smith took a closer look at the desk. It struck him as odd. It was very neat. Too neat for someone who was supposedly working late. There was a file folder on the top left corner of the desk but that was it. No disheveled papers all thrown about, no scattered pens or pencils, nothing that’d indicate someone was there.
“Alpha One, we have a negative on our target,” Smith reported. “He’s not here.”
Smith waited about thirty seconds before trying to repeat the message. Once again, it went without a reply. He looked around the room again, alarm bells going off in his head. He quietly walked over to the door, listening for any sounds in the hallway. Thinking he may have been set up, he had a feeling someone was out there waiting for him. But he had no other options, he had to take the chance and leave sometime. Smith slipped out the door and started walking down the hallway, paying careful attention to his surroundings. He believed a person could just as easily run into trouble by going too fast and not paying attention, as you could by maintaining a steady pace. He thought it was more beneficial to know what was around you as it was to go quickly. Just as he passed one of the other offices, he heard the sound of the elevator chiming. He snapped his body around as the elevator doors opened, ready for someone to step off. Nobody did though. He took a few more steps toward it when the door by the stairs swung open, a man immediately opening up and firing. Smith instantly went down from the blow of the first bullet, lodging into his stomach. He rolled on the floor and returned fire, hitting his attacker several times as they each emptied their pistols. Holding his stomach, blood soaking his hand, he reached around and grabbed another magazine to reload his pistol.
Smith got to his feet, grimacing in pain as he slowly walked over to the other man lying on the ground. With the gun laying close to the man’s hand, Smith kicked the gun down the hall. Smith nudged him with his foot a couple times, and after being satisfied he was dead, checked his pockets for some ID. He had none on him though. He saw he had an earpiece, the wire going into the back of shirt down to back of his pants. Smith turned him over and took the earpiece out and listened to see if he could pick up anything. After a minute, a voice spoke out.
“Centurion Twenty One, have you finished your assignment?”
It was the same voice that gave him his own orders. Smith thought about whether he should answer, and all the different things he could answer with, or just ignore it. If he didn’t reply, they’d know the agent failed. If Smith replied in the wrong manner, they’d also know they failed to eliminate him. He picked up the earpiece and waited for them to ask again.
“Centurion Twenty One, is your assignment complete?”
“This is Twenty One, mission successful. Target’s been eliminated.”
“Good job. Go back to your hotel and wait for instructions.”
“Roger that.”
Smith quickly went down the stairs, knowing he didn’t have a lot of time, but also knowing that there may have been more than one agent sent there for him. Once he reached the bottom of the stairs he slowed down, hearing what sounded like someone pacing just outside the door. He knew it wasn’t the guard since he wasn’t supposed to return for another hour. Holding the side of his stomach, still bleeding profusely, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Smith pushed the door open, his gun already raised and in firing position. He immediately saw another agent standing there and began firing, three shots landing in the agent’s chest before he was able to get a shot away. Smith did a three sixty in the lobby just in case anyone else was there waiting, but without having to duck any other bullets, assumed it was just the two of them. He ducked back out the side entrance and made his getaway through some bushes and trees, not knowing what was on the other side of them.
Knowing he couldn’t go back to his hotel room in fear that the agency had someone watching it just in case, Smith wasn’t sure where else he could go. The agency had contacts everywhere, and anyone that he knew of, could possibly burn him. He didn’t know who he could trust, if anybody. After about ten minutes, he walked out of the clump of trees. Suddenly, his thoughts turned to his girlfriend, Carrie. Worried that they might not have been satisfied with just taking him out and might try to eliminate anyone close to him, he got out his cell phone and tried calling her. She was the only person who really mattered to him, who he thought they might try to take out. He had no other close friends. His parents had both passed away several years ago, and being an only child, was never close with any other relatives. Smith dialed Carrie’s number, desperate to reach her and hear her voice, letting him know she was OK. With the time difference, Smith figured she should’ve gotten home from work about a half hour ago. Her phone kept ringing, eventually going to voicemail. Smith kept walking, trying the number again. This time, after four rings, the phone was answered. She didn’t talk though or greet him with the usual warm hello that she usually did, heightening Smith’s fears.
“Carrie?”
A man’s voice answered back. “I’m afraid Carrie will not be able to come to the phone right now.”
“What have you done to her?”
“I wouldn’t worry about her so much as I would about yourself.”
“I swear if you hurt her, I will hunt you down and kill you,” Smith threatened.
“Big threat from a man who won’t make it through the night.”
“Let Carrie go. You have no beef with her. If it’s me you want, come and get me.”
“It’s not really necessary at this point. I’m afraid you’ll never see her again.”
“Don’t do this to her. She’s a good person.”
“She seems that way. Too bad she fell for a man like you. That was her undoing.”
Fearing for her life, Sm
ith was ready to bargain. “I’ll give myself up for her.”
“How chivalrous of you.”
“I mean it. My life for hers. Let her go and I’ll turn myself in to whoever and wherever you want. Just tell me where.”
“If only you had called ten minutes ago. I would’ve made the exchange in a heartbeat. I’m afraid now it’s not possible,” the man cryptically said.
“Why not?” Smith asked, stopping in his tracks, afraid of what he was about to hear.
“Because five minutes ago…I killed poor, sweet Carrie. Don’t worry though. I gave her the professional courtesy of making it quick and painless. She never saw it coming.”
Smith hunched over like he was about to throw up, though he didn’t. He straightened up again, though still wincing from the pain of the gunshot wound.
“You didn’t have to do that! She was innocent!” Smith yelled.
“Nobody’s innocent.”
“She didn’t have to die! If you wanted me, come get me!”
“Oh, we will. We will.”
“Who are you? I’d like to know so I can make your death more special when I look into your eyes.”
The man laughed, amused by the threats of a man he assumed would soon be dead. “Seventeen,” he answered.
The other man abruptly hung up, leaving a whirlwind of thoughts swirling around in Smith’s head. Carrie was dead. Because of him. If she’d never have met him, she’d still be alive. Smith eventually got to a sidewalk and continued walking along the street, not really having a destination in mind. He closed his coat tightly to prevent his wound from showing to passers-by. For more than two hours he wandered around the streets of London, putting his head down, and not going anywhere in particular. He knew Centurion had people on the ground looking for him by now so he couldn’t go to anyone he already knew. Even if there were people he could trust, which there wasn’t, he wouldn’t put anyone else’s lives at risk. Not for him. He knew he left a fair amount of blood at the shootout at the office so he figured they’d check hospitals and any underground doctors in the area first. When the third hour after the shootout had passed, Smith finally picked his head up and looked around, amazingly finding himself standing in front of a hospital. He debated whether he wanted to go in. He wasn’t sure if he should go in. He wasn’t sure if he even wanted to go in. With Carrie gone, he thought maybe he’d just give up and join her wherever she now was. He thought maybe it was better if he just kept moving, knowing eventually he’d collapse. Then he thought about Carrie and knew she’d want him to carry on. His legs began moving and he walked through the hospital doors, taking a seat. He wasn’t sure if he was doing it for Carrie, or for himself. Thoughts of rage and revenge flowed through him. If he gave up, he wouldn’t be able to extract the punishment that Centurion had coming to them. He found the waiting area for the emergency room and saw an empty chair towards the back and sat down.
“Mr. Recker? Mr. Recker?” Jones asked, touching his shoulder.
Recker broke free of his stare, the combination of hearing his name and feeling Jones’ hand, woke him from his trance. He snapped his head towards Jones, still in a little bit of a haze.
“Are you OK?” Jones asked, concerned.
“Yeah. Yeah. I’m fine,” Recker replied, getting the images out of his head.
“I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t interrupt anything important for you. You seemed to be in some sort of trance.”
Recker shook his head, “no, it’s fine. Just thinking about something.”
“Anything you’d like to talk about?”
“Uhh…no. No, I’m good.”
Jones had a feeling he was replaying the events of something terrible in his mind. Maybe it was London, or maybe it was one of the other couple dozen assassinations he’d be involved with. Or maybe it was something unrelated to any of them. Jones couldn’t be sure what it was, but whatever it was, had to be something traumatic for him as he seemed troubled by whatever he was thinking about.
Recker and Carried had been dating for a little under two years. They met in Orlando, where Carrie lived, running into each other in a hotel lobby where Recker was staying. It was just a layover for him, in between jobs, whereas she was there for a conference for her job. While she was on a break between sessions, they sat next to each other on a bench and began talking. Well, she did most of the talking. He was hesitant to talk and get to know anybody, knowing he wasn’t likely to see them again. Eventually, with her pleasant personality, she got him to open up a little. He told her he worked for the government and went overseas often. After that conference, they exchanged phone numbers and agreed to see each other again.
Every chance Recker got from that day forward, he traveled down to Orlando to be with her, usually for one or two weeks a month, though a couple times he had as much as four weeks to spend with her while he waited for an assignment. He tried to shield her from what he did as much as he could. It wasn’t until three months before London happened that he actually sat down with her and explained to her exactly what he did and who he was. Up until then, he felt like he was leading her on and thought she was going down a path with someone that wasn’t real. He fully expected her to be done with him after he told her the truth about him and was actually hoping she would be, wanting Carrie to find a nicer and more stable guy than he was that could really make her happy. Her response wasn’t what he envisioned though. She’d always known he was hiding something about his work but she never wanted to pry. From her vantage point, he was a handsome, kind, considerate, caring guy who she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. Whatever he did for a living, it wasn’t the person that she knew. It wasn’t the person that he was when they were together. She understood that he did things for the government that weren’t pretty, that most people wouldn’t understand, or couldn’t stomach. From that moment on, Recker questioned his role in the agency. He expected, and had fully accepted, the fact that he was likely to spend the rest of his life alone and would die in a hail of gunfire. But her love changed his perspective. He now had something, and someone, to live for.
Recker and Carrie had discussed him leaving the agency, and though she never forced him to do so, he wanted to quit. Though Carrie was happy that he was making that decision, she didn’t want him to do it on her account. She wanted him to do it cause he was ready to, and not because he felt like she was forcing him to. But now that he had her, Recker wanted to give it all up and just settle down to spend all his time with her. He’d approached a couple of his superiors a month before the London assignment and expressed his feelings to them, telling them that he wanted out. Though Recker expected to hear some objections to his leaving, and wondered about how they would take it, they never expressed any negativity to him. Not one bad word, leaving him to think they were OK with it. They led him to believe that he would be able to leave the agency behind and have a normal life. Obviously he was wrong, and as far as he was concerned, was likely never to forgive himself for leading Carrie down the path that eventually got her killed.
Chapter 4
Recker had just walked into the office, two empty duffel bags draped over his shoulders crisscrossed. Jones was sitting at the desk working and turned around. His eyes widened, wondering how much equipment Recker was bringing back.
“Just how many guns are you planning on purchasing, Mr. Recker?”
“Huh? Oh. These aren’t both for the guns. One’s to put the money in. You have it ready?”
“Twenty thousand dollars. Just as you requested. It’s over there in the corner in the briefcase.”
Recker walked over to it, shuffling the money from the briefcase into one of the duffel bags. Gibson called Recker first thing in the morning to let him know he had a dealer ready to deliver if he was still interested in purchasing the weapons. Jones had a medium size safe in the office, holding about fifty thousand dollars. His goal was to have a large amount of cash on hand in order to avoid frequent trips to the bank. Since banks had cameras, they thought i
t was best not to be seen there much, if at all. Gibson said the deal would happen along 69th street. There were some vacant stores in a strip center where a McDonald’s was located. The deal would happen on Barrington, the street behind the center, inside a vacant, boarded up row home. They’d have a red flag or bandana on one of the boarded up windows to let Recker know which house it was.
“Do you need me to accompany you or help you in any way?” Jones offered.
“Thanks. But I don’t think you’ll be much help in this instance.”
“You don’t think it’s a trap or something do you? Nothing could go wrong, right?”
“Something could always go wrong. Could be they just decide to try and kill me and take the cash and forget about the deal,” Recker stated. “Wouldn’t be the first time that happened.”
“Maybe it’s best if you try to acquire the weapons in some other manner then?”
“No, I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”
“Why not?”
“Because once they see that I could become a long term customer, the possibility of future, larger payments should outweigh this one smaller transaction,” Recker answered.
“You call twenty thousand dollars a small transaction?”
“It is in this instance.”
Recker stewed around the office for another hour, just passing the time until he had to leave. Once the meeting time started creeping up, he grabbed his gun, tucked it inside his pants and put his coat on. He put his earpiece in so he could communicate with Jones if he should have to.
“Please be careful,” Jones said.
Recker stopped as he reached the door and turned around. “You almost sound concerned,” he smiled.
“I am. I’d hate to have to go through this process all over again if something happened to you.”
Recker smiled at his sense of humor, dry as it was. Pretty similar to his own. It took him about forty five minutes to get to 69th street. This area was technically in Upper Darby but it was only a few minutes outside Philadelphia. He found the McDonald’s and turned onto Barrington. It wasn’t a large street and only had a dozen or so houses on it. It only took him a minute to find the one with the red bandana pinned to a boarded up window, even though it wasn’t necessary, as there was only one house on the street with any boarded windows at all. The other houses appeared to be maintained fairly well. Recker parked on the street along the curb, seeing several other cars in the driveway. He grabbed the empty duffel bag, as well as the one with the money, and slung them over his shoulder as he got out of his truck.